


Ink, Animal Spirits, and Magic

by RoseBloodCat



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Henry comes from a family of magicals, Magic Users, because he does both, but he's unique, he does witchcraft, he shape shifts, heavily in spired by the witch boy series, magic Henry, will add more tags later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:27:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22021069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseBloodCat/pseuds/RoseBloodCat
Summary: Henry Stein thought of himself as a simple man.  He didn't ask for much in the world; he just wanted to live comfortably and draw cartoons in his free time.  Even if he came from a clan of magic-users, he still didn't think of himself as complicated.If only he could say the same for his "normal" friend, Joey Drew.  Who fully believed that if something was worth doing, then it was worth OVERdoing.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 35





	1. Prologue: The Letter

**Author's Note:**

> This story was started a couple years back, just after I'd read and fell in love with the first book in the Witch Boy series by Molly Ostertag. I highly recommend it, not only for its fantasy world and storytelling but for its underlying and very well presented LGBTQ+ themes.
> 
> If you get the chance, you should definitely read it.
> 
> This is just the prologue, but I do have more written/planned out and have done serious thinking about the universe, my understanding/interpretation of magic, and the identities of the characters. I dearly hope you all enjoy it!

_"Did you find your spirit, my little shifter?" Hazel eyes glittered in delight. He was so excited, spirits had been visiting his dreams for months, but he had still been worried he wouldn't meet his spirit during the Finding. Though he had more on the line than the other boys if he hadn't met his spirit. After all, he was the only one getting Witchery lessons._

_"I found it, Grandma! It's a bobcat._ I'm _a bobcat! It challenged me to a climbing contest up the rocks by the river, and I won!" The elderly woman smiled at him, a playful twinkle in her eyes at the boy’s excitement._

_"Ah, so you’re a little kitten then." The boy pouted, crossing his arms with a huff._

_"I am not a kitten, Grandma!" She chuckled, leaning over and ruffling his hair._

_"You'll always be a little kitten to me, dearie. But we have other things to discuss. Since you've found your form, it's time I taught you how to make a containment rune. It will make a good defense for you if you are cornered by something too strong for you to handle right away."_

_"Okay, Grandma."_

_"Perfect. Now then, the first thing we'll need is some white chalk..."_

.

.

Henry Stein thought of himself as a simple man. He didn't ask for much in the world; he just wanted to live comfortably and draw cartoons in his free time. Even if he came from a clan of magic-users, he still didn't think of himself as complicated.

It had been nearly six years since his clan had been wiped out, but he still lived in his grandmother's old home (he was the only one left, he was alone, simply because he _hadn't been there when it happened_ ) and cared for the land. He worked hard around his Clan homes, keeping them clean, making sure the animal spirits were happy, and ensuring that the gardens, animals, and orchards stayed healthy and well.

It wasn't easy for a single person, but it kept him busy (like how he preferred).

Which was why something waking him before the sun could rise immediately alarmed him. Hazel eyes narrowed as he prowled out of bed. He snatched his hunting knife on his way out of the room, carefully stalking towards the front door, letting his senses fall into a partial shift as he went.

The scents, sounds, and shapes of the world around him became clearer and more defined than before, letting him pick out every shadow being cast in the darkness, the rustling of the leaves outside, and the scents that filled his home. He couldn't see or hear or smell anything out of place, but _something_ in the air had changed, there was a tang that hadn't been there before. Whether it was a living being or some kind of magic was something that remained to be seen, but he _knew_ it was there.

The entirety of the Clan property was protected by boundary spells and wards, nothing that intended harm on those inside them should be able to pass through. But no one should be coming inside without an invitation either. (The invitations hadn't initially been part of the protections, he'd added it when he came home. He still wasn't sure how they'd been breached _before._ )

Henry didn't know who (or _what)_ was out there, but if they were an intruder, they were going to be in for a very _unpleasant_ surprise once he got his hands on them.

He pressed an ear to the door, listening for some hint of what had woken him, but only heard the natural sounds of the world outside. His eyes narrowed, becoming even more suspicious at the silence. Henry braced a shoulder against the door, slowly grasping and turning the doorknob.

Henry let out a snarl and threw the door open as hard as he could, planning to stun anyone standing on the other side, brandishing his knife in a threatening manner. The door bounced against the wall with a tremendous bang, revealing an empty porch and a darkened yard.

There was no one there.

"What in the..." Henry started to step out, only to feel something crumple under his barefoot. He startled, jumping back and looking down at the welcome mat on the front stoop.

Laying there was a single, now slightly crumpled letter bearing his name (and only his name). No address, no visible runes, no way to tell how it got there, just the name in a messy, blotched scrawl. In handwriting that he hadn't seen in years, not since he'd been living among the nonmagicals.

"Joey?" He muttered in confusion, kneeling to examine the letter. Joey had never seen Henry's home, he'd never been invited onto the grounds at any point, so how had the letter gotten there? He picked up the envelope but didn't go back inside, instead calling out into the early morning air.

"Joey? Are you out there? Hello?"

Standing in the silence, Henry strained his ears to find some hint of what was going on. His nose twitched, unable to find any trace of his old friend on the wind.

There was no sign of anyone, never mind Joey Drew, having come onto his property.

"How strange," he murmured to himself. Henry hesitated at the door, taking one last glance at the darkness outside, then retreated into the house. Joey wasn't outside, but maybe the letter would hold some answer to the strangeness that had woken him that morning.

Henry wandered into the kitchen, setting the letter and hunting knife down on the counter to turn on the lights and start a cup of tea for himself. It was too early for him to be running on willpower alone; he needed some caffeine in his system. And maybe some bacon too.

He'd need the energy to deal with Joey's antics (like always).

He made himself a simple breakfast of bacon, eggs, and some toast as the tea water heated up. He couldn’t help glancing back at the letter now and again as he cooked, half expecting something to happen if he turned away from it for too long.

He picked it up again, carefully examining the letter. The handwriting bothered him.

Joey, for all his manic energy and crazy ideas, has always had meticulously neat handwriting. Never a smudge or line out of place. Though he could tell Joey had written the letter, it bothered Henry with how… _Different_ it was from usual.

It was sloppy, smudged, and uneven. Joey usually would have never sent out something so messy. Even if it were just going to Henry, his perfectionist views of letters would have never allowed it. Joey’s scent was faint, but definitely there, confirming its authenticity. Not only that, but the entire envelope was covered in ink stains and smudges that looked like fingerprints. It bothered him.

He picked up his knife and slit open the envelope with a smooth flick of his wrist, pulling out an equally stained sheet of paper from inside (where had Joey gotten this?).

**Dear Henry,**

**Please my friend, I need your help.**

**I’ve** **~~done some~~ ** **made a horrible mistake. I should have listened to you all those years ago. Come to the old workshop. I don’t think I can explain it all in a simple letter. You’d have to see it with your own eyes. I can’t undo this on my own.**

**Please Henry, I need you.**

**Signed,**

**Joey Drew**

Henry reread the letter, brow furrowing in confusion. What was Joey talking about? What could Joey have done for him to need to call on him for help?

They’d gotten in a small argument before Henry left, nothing that could genuinely hurt their friendship, but something that had gotten heated at the time. It had mostly been about how soon Henry would return after dealing with his “family business.” The wound had still been fresh at the time, so he hadn’t told Joey about the “incident” before the argument had started. Joey had immediately retracted his complaints when Henry had blown his top and shouted the news he’d been given.

Joey had then told him to take as long as he needed before coming back. But, with the size of the property, he simply couldn’t balance caring for the land and working at Sillyvision at the same time.

While unhappy about it, Joey had understood that Henry was too loyal to his family to let their homes in despair.

Joey probably would have attended the funerals if Henry had held any open visitor ones. But, in Family Tradition, he had held several small, private ceremonies on the property and buried everyone in the forest within the boundaries (safe in the clearings, deep in the woods with all the ancestors that came before them).

Actually, now that he was thinking about it, when was the last time he had contacted Joey? He’d tried to keep in contact for a while, but… It must have fallen by the wayside while he cared for the property. How embarrassing. How could he have forgotten to keep up with his friends at the studio?

But now, getting this strange letter from Joey, he was worried about what could have happened without him there to keep an eye on things.

He’d been away from the studio long enough; it was long past time he visited. With how long it had been, he wasn’t sure how well he could draw anymore, but, at the very least, he could take some time to see his friends again.

Henry nodded to himself firmly. Yes, he would visit and find out what this letter was about. After he finished his usual morning tasks, he would leave. He glanced out the window at the still darkened sky and gave a small wince.

He should probably head out once the sun had finally come up.

.

Henry had gone about his usual morning chores, intending to get them done before leaving for the studio. Doing a weed run in his herb garden, checking his fruit trees, feeding his small number of livestock, just the general chores before going off into the unknown. The work was mindless, and he rarely had to put much thought into it as he got it done. His only issue that day was how early he’d started on the chores. (It took time since he was alone.) He’d packed a small travel bag, and tossed it into the front passenger seat of his small town car before he began.

Henry had almost crossed the boundary when his mind had finally connected what Joey could have meant when he’d written: “I should have listened to you.”

Years ago, he had found a book of forbidden witchery in Joey’s office.

His grandmother had warned him against trying to learn Witchery on his own; things could easily go wrong if there weren’t someone with more experience watching over you. He hadn’t known the contents of the book in question, but he had recognized the seals on the cover from his grandmother’s lessons on what magics he should always try to avoid.

He had immediately told his friend to get rid of the book, saying that it was dangerous. Joey, in all his “wisdom” (which was to say, his polite _ignorance_ ), had assured his worried Navajo friend that the book was perfectly harmless. Henry hadn’t let it go, repeatedly warning Joey books like that were forbidden for a reason. It had been one of the few arguments between them that hadn’t been quickly resolved. At some point, Joey had finally told him that he would get rid of the book if it would make Henry feel better. He had thought that had been the end of it. But, perhaps it _hadn’t_ been finished so efficiently.

If Joey _hadn’t_ gotten rid of the book, if the fool had actually tried to _study_ from the thing, then… There could be a _very bad_ situation waiting for him.

But how could the letter have gotten to him? Joey certainly hadn’t sent it through the post system. He must have called on wild magic to get the letter to him; it was the only way he could think of for the message to have reached him inside the boundaries. Though rare, such things could happen if someone was desperate enough for it to happen.

That made a terrible amount of sense to him.

Henry’s heart sank at the thought of Joey _not only_ attempting to cast magic without someone watching him, but illegal magics to boot. He wrenched the wheel around and hurried back to the house; he would need _much more_ than just his Shapeshifter magics for this.

Now the question was, what should he bring with him? He had no idea what had been in that book, never mind what Joey could have done to himself with it.

Wait, Joey had mentioned the workshop _specifically_. Had that fool been practicing the magic there? Could it have affected the rest of the crew?

He was going to need a _lot_ of stuff for this.

Chalk was the first thing to spring to mind, followed closely by a medical kit (full kit to be safe). Runestones would be good too. And some incense and herbs. Would the scented ritual candles be too much? Wait a moment; this was _Joey_ he was talking about. Joey was firmly believed that if it’s worth doing, it's worth _overdoing._

“It’d probably be better to grab the entire Witch’s Weapon box.” Henry mused to himself, eyes narrowing as he pulled back into the drive and hurried out of the car. “And I’ll swap to the farming truck while I’m at it.” Henry half-jogged half-ran to the library; he’d have to call a neighbor to keep an eye on things for a little while. This was probably going to take some time.


	2. Chapter 1: Moving Pictures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry arrives, gets ink in his hair, and is generally a very unhappy cat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1 is finally here! Along with another look back at the past to help put things into perspective.

_Hendric rarely went outside the boundaries of the Clan. There were spirits and demons out there that would attack kids like him in a moment's notice. He and all of his cousins had been warned against going out without an adult with them. But now that he had found his form, he was given a little more leeway for exploring._

_He hadn’t meant to go too far, but he had heard something strange coming from the edge of the woods that separated their clan’s homes from the non-magical neighborhoods. His grandmother had told him that most non-magicals avoided the woods, that was what made it safe for their family to live there. Which made the voices of children he didn’t know that much more noticeable._

_Dropping into the crouch his animal spirit had taught him, he crept closer to the voices._

_He peered out of the bushes, spying three boys who were obviously older than him looming over a smaller blonde boy. Their skin was paler than his, just like his mother and sister, but darker than the boy on the ground’s skin. He had never seen someone so pale; if it weren’t for the stubborn glare coming from the smaller boy, he would have thought he was terrified of the older boys._

_“Come on, Drew! You’re such a weirdo, spending all your time drawing.” He frowned. What was wrong with drawing?_

_“Don’t get too close, Butch, a weirdo like him could have Poli and not know it. We don’t want to get infected by him.” He listened as they insulted the small blonde, referencing various things that Henry didn’t know about. He didn’t like it listening to it, he decided._

_It reminded him of when he was first trying to learn Witchery. Only girls were supposed to learn it; he still remembered the tongue-lashing his Aunt Iris had given him when she caught him spying on the girl’s lessons. A lot of the older boys had teased him for it until his Grandma had finally started teaching him. Nothing really mean, but he remembered a few joking that if he wanted to be a girl he should have said so._

_The blonde seemed to huff, turning to the wood where Henry was hiding, and their eyes finally met. Hazel eyes widened at the sharp, blue-green eyes of the other boy. He was sure that the older boys hadn’t noticed him, but the blonde_ had. _Now he definitely couldn’t just leave things as they were. Decision made, Henry lifted a finger to his lips, signaling for the blonde to remain quiet and received a faint, almost unnoticeable nod in return._

_Henry backed up slightly deeper into the brush, staying hidden from sight. He didn’t think he could take those older boys without using magic, so he’d have to find a way to scare them into leaving. He smirked to himself. He had just the thing._

_Concentrating a small amount of magic into his throat, he initiated a partial change. Taking a deep breath, Henry let out a low, violent snarl. He could hear the older boys startling in alarm, one of them questioning where the sound had come from. Another asked if it had come from the woods._

_A new voice spoke up (Henry could only assume it was the blonde’s voice) commenting about how his parents had told him about how there were vicious, man-eating, wild animals living in the forest. Henry, fighting back a giggle, let out another, more threatening snarl and rattled a nearby bush for effect. He could hear the older boys panicking and leaving the blonde behind. Henry waited an extra moment, then left his hiding spot._

_The blonde boy was sitting up now, watching Henry with wide, curious eyes._

_“You okay?” He asked, holding out a hand to help the boy up. He received a blinding grin in return._

_“Yup! Thanks for helping me back there. That was a really neat trick you did to scare those guys off. You don’t go to my school, do you? I think I would have recognized you if you did. Do you live around here? I haven’t seen you in town before. Why were you in the woods?” , Henry blinked, surprised by the sudden onslaught of questions. He chuckled, raising a hand to stop the flood of words._

_“Do you want me to answer those in order? Or do you just like talking to new people?” The Blonde’s smile dropped, his face flushing in embarrassment._

_“Heh, sorry about that, not a lot of people like hanging around me. They all think I’m weird.” Henry shrugged, a smile tugging at his lips._

_“I heard. Can’t see why there’d be anything wrong with that. My Ma always told me that normal people were boring.” The blonde boy stared at him then a smile slowly crept over his face._

_“You’re cool. What’s your name?” Henry paused, remembering his grandmother’s warnings about giving out your name to strangers._

_“Aren’t you supposed to give your own name first?” He asked instead, watching the other’s reaction. He blinked, as though he’d forgotten it._

_“Oh, I’m Joey. Joey Drew,” said the boy, Joey, sticking out his hand for Henry to shake._

_“I’m Henry, nice to meet you.”_

.

.

Henry pulled up by the side door to the old studio, his truck neatly filling the entrance to the alley, and blocking the entry in question from sight. He carefully slipped out, grabbing the thick hiking backpack from the passenger seat and throwing it over his shoulder. He didn't want anyone coming in or trying to follow him, which made blocking the door from sight important. Better people thought he was using the alley as a parking spot, then for them to see him entering the building and wondering why.

He carefully eased the door open, squinting into the gloom (the windows had been boarded up, why would Joey board them up?). Slowly Henry entered the building, tugging the door shut behind him as he went.

“Alright, Joey, I’m here. Let’s see if I can find what you wanted to show me.” He slipped the pack on properly and started prowling through the building, peering into every room or open door he found during his exploration — hyper-aware of every sound that echoed through the far too quiet building.

There was something _very_ wrong there.

It was almost midday when he’d arrived, work at the studio should have been in session by now. There should have been employees and interns bustling about the building with stacks of paper and ink in their arms, with everyone prepping the next episode for the upcoming deadline. Not this downright _eerie_ silence permeated only by the sounds of dripping ink and the distant grinding of gears. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

He continued, stopping by his old desk in case Joey had planned to meet him there (no good on that front). His desk had been covered in a thick layer of dust, with papers scattered all over, and several ink stains covering it.

The cafeteria was his next destination, half hoping that was where Joey would be waiting for him. The place was barren, with the lights on and papers scattered all over and no sign of anyone other than him in the building. He peered around the corner, raising an eyebrow at the writing scrawled on the wall. (“Dreams come true”? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what the writer meant by that…)

Henry could feel a faint trace of magic in the air, nothing that said a proper spell had been cast recently on that floor. But he doubted Joey would have used a properly cast spell to get his letter to Henry, or even that it had been in the animation department when he did it.

Henry faltered in his step when he turned down the hall to the cafeteria, spotting something he wasn’t familiar at the junction at the end of the hallway. It looked to be a tally board of some kind. When he was still working at the studio, that junction and the mini-hallway beyond it had been (arguably) one of the most critical rooms in the studio, the Story Boarding room. Though it couldn’t really be called a “room” per se, it had been a balcony that had opened to a much larger room, which ended up being mostly used for storage.

The walls around the balcony’s doorway (if you were facing the hallway), had been where Joey would hang the storyboards. When they had first gotten the studio, it had been done like that out of necessity, and later they had simply never bothered to move it.

His eyes flicked up to the sign now hung over the doorway. The “Ink Machine” room? He carefully strode down the hall, stepping over the pipe across the floor and padding out into the balcony that overlooked the much larger room. Only to startle at the gigantic lift that had replaced the many boxes of old episode frames, spare equipment, and other odds and ends they’d had laying around.

He glanced about, quietly pondering what he should do next. His eyes landed on a lever that he could only assume was for the strange lift, and he could clearly see where there had once been two batteries meant to power it.

“Looks like this lift is missing a few dry cells,” he muttered, “Shouldn’t be too hard to find them.”

Finding them proved to be reasonably straightforward, as he spotted the first as soon as he turned to the rack on his other side, and the other when he checked the trunk lying in front of it. Smoothly slotting them in, he threw the lever and watched the lift rise.

“Alright, Joey, let’s see what you’ve got hiding down there.”

Henry’s mind froze as a grand machine rose from the darkness below, hissing with steam from the mechanisms that raised it.

He had heard tale of the strange machine before. He vaguely remembered Sammy mentioning it in a letter more than a few years back. About how Joey had commissioned it to cut down on ink costs for the studio (not a bad idea, considering), but it seemed like more trouble than it was worth to the musician. The Machine had sounded like something that was useful in concept, but not as much in practice.

But Sammy tended to exaggerate when he was annoyed, so Henry hadn’t been too sure about it. He couldn’t remember the exact wording of the letter, or his response, but that had been the main thing that Sammy had complained about.

“So this is the Ink Machine, huh?” He muttered glancing around the room curiously, but not spotting any more switches or levers connected to it. “I wonder how you’re supposed to turn it on…”

He poked around the limited space, hoping to find some clue to it, but found nothing. (He had the curiosity of a cat, he couldn’t help it!) He sighed through his nose, wiping a hand over his head.

“Maybe it’s in another room then? I wish you’d left me some kind of note for this Joey...” Henry shook his head and wandered back out. Maybe there was something in the breakroom? He trotted out the doorway, making his way to the back of the building where he knew the break room had been.

He was baffled when he finally found it. Gone where the chairs and tables for animators to sit and rest for a few moments with a cup of tea or coffee without their work staring back at them or being at risk from a quick snack getting on it. Henry’s eyes took in the strange scene that Joey had replaced it with. A large power switch was mounted against the back wall, and pedestals were lining each side of the room with framed images hung on the walls behind them.

Henry rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“ ‘Main Power’... I wonder if it’s for the Machine? The rest of the building seems to be running fine even though it’s off.” He gazed around at the pictures. “Alright, how do I get this to work? Do these have something to do with it?”

He remembered seeing a few of the objects shown. Would he need to backtrack for them? Well, without any other ideas of what to do, it seemed he would have to give it a shot. He headed back into the hall.

The building was giving him the creeps, as he could distantly sense magic in the studio. It was twisted, _wrong,_ but Henry couldn’t put a finger on what it was or what could have been causing it. It was like having something stuck in the fur of his animal form that he couldn’t get rid of. He made his way deeper into the building and paused by one of the closets.

A tape player was sitting on the shelf between two of the storage closets. Henry peered curiously at it, carefully picking it up and hitting the play button.

_“At this point, I don’t get what Joey’s plan is for this company. The animations sure aren’t being done on time anymore. And I certainly don’t see why we need this machine. It’s noisy, it’s messy and who needs that much ink anyways?_

_“Also, get this, Joey cleared out the break room and put up these pedestals to run it. He had each of us donate something from our work stations to put on them. To help keep things going, Joey says._

_“Ever since Henry left for that family issue Joey mentioned to everyone, he’s been acting weird. He’s constantly with his nose in some weird book that he got somewhere and making all kinds of new decisions for the studio. I always thought he was loopy before, but this stuff is really pushing it. But, hey, he writes the checks._

_“But I tell you what, if another one of these pipes burst, I’m outta here.”_

Henry frowned at the tape player as it wound to a stop. Wally hadn’t described the book, but he had a sinking feeling he knew _exactly_ what book Joey had been reading. But since Wally hadn’t described it, he couldn’t be sure…

Well, at least now, he had an idea of what he needed to do now.

.

“Well, Henry, you wondered why Sammy didn’t like the machine. Now you have a _damn_ good idea.” Henry scowled to himself, trudging his way from the former-break room to the screening room. And _hopefully,_ the flow switch for the machine.

He could only guess at what Joey had been thinking when he came up with this design, assuming the man had _been_ thinking when he did it.

It was like he’d tried to put something relevant to the machine in all four corners of the studio building. Though Henry couldn't fathom _why_ Joey would do something like that, it wasn’t like the corners of the building lined up with the cardinal directions. He stomped into the projection room, stepped around the projector that had been left out, and finally found the flow valve he’d been looking for.

“There we go. Now I just need to hit it, then throw the power switch, and then check if the Machine it finally on.” He casually cranked it, listening to the low rumbling that started in the pipes over his head. He jumped at the crash that sounded around the corner and swore at the ink that suddenly covered the floor of the room, soaking the bottoms of his machines. He stepped out of the corner, looking up at the pipe that had burst at the change in pressure.

Henry ducked under the spray, cringing at the cold splatters that managed to hit the back of his head, and headed back to the Break Room.

Once there, he threw the Power switch, watching the lights over the pedestals go out, and hearing the distant rumbling of the machine in the old Storyboarding room. But he was distracted by the sudden surge of twisted magic that made his hair stand on end and sent a chill shooting down his spine.

“What the… What in the world was that?” Henry shook himself off like a wet cat, ignoring how the pack he was wearing wobbled from the motion. He grabbed the straps, affixing it duly on his back once more. “I… I guess I should check on the Machine now. Hopefully, it’s working again.”

Henry carefully padded back to the ink machine room but paused after rounding the corner.

Someone had boarded up the doorway. But who? And how had they done it so quickly? Henry should have heard it if the person had nailed the boards in place.

His eyes trailed down to the bare, inky footprints leading from the Ink Machine room to the cafeteria. He adjusted his grip on his pack, eyeing the boarded-up doorway with distrust and slowly slid his hunting knife from its sheath on his belt as he crept closer.

“Hello? Someone there?” He shouted in alarm at the inky form that lunged at him from behind the boards, grasping at Henry’s face. A small part of his brain noted the horned head, wide smile, and dripping bowtie reminiscent of the little toon he used to draw years ago while working at the very Studio they were in.

His magicks, however, screamed that this thing was _dangerous,_ and he instinctively lashed out with his knife, burying the blade into the creature’s arm. It screeched, rearing back.

Henry turned, his instincts overriding his reason, and bolted down the hallways that were quickly flooding with ink. The tremendous crashes behind him telling him that the creature had ripped its way through the boards and was giving chase. He only managed to turn the corner to the exit when the floor gave way under his feet.

Henry twisted in the air, getting his feet underneath him, and hit the floor below with a loud splash in the ink that had fallen with him. Even with his legs reflexively bending to keep from being injured by the landing, Henry still stumbled slightly at the impact.

He looked back at the opening he’d fallen through, panting slightly.

“That- That was _not_ what I expected. This… This is going to need a better plan… But first, I need to find someplace safer. Someplace I can think.” He looked down at the knee deep ink he was standing in and winced. “After I drain some of this ink… At least I didn’t lose my bag.”

Henry sloshed his way over to the valve he could see and cranked it, feeling pleased when it drained the ink from the room. Henry found himself channeling more of his animal spirit as he crept deeper into the studio, keeping his footsteps light and quiet in hopes of keeping the… _Thing_ that had attacked him from being able to find him again. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he didn’t want to find out until he had a better idea of how to _deal_ with it.

Cringing at the smell of rubber ink, Henry continued deeper inside, draining more ink as he went. He slipped into a room with boards blocking off the passage on the other side.

Henry’s eyes landed on a discarded fire ax. He didn’t like the idea of trying to fight that monster, but… He snatched it up, deciding it was better to be safe than sorry. He crept further in.

He paused at an odd room where a sizeable protective pentacle had been painted on the floor. Henry knelt by it, examining the work of whoever had drawn it. It had been drawn on the floor with ink instead of chalk or ground salt, and the lines weren’t very neat, but Henry could see that it was still good enough to do the job it had been painted for.

His head shot up; he could feel the twisted magic from earlier descending towards him quickly. _Very_ quickly. He needed to leave and fast. Henry lurched to his feet, jogging over the pentacle on the floor to the door on the other side of the room, but he stumbled when the floor shook. Ink stained the walls, dripping down every available surface.

He felt the protective magics of the pentacle trigger and retaliate, slamming against the twisted magic of the Bendy-like creature from earlier. Henry grabbed his head, the clashing magics flooding his trained senses with pressure. He groaned, feeling the pain from the pressure building in the tiny room.

 _I-I can’t… I can’t handle... this pressure…_ Henry’s head throbbed from the pain of the magics crashing around him, his legs giving way under him. Black started seeping into his vision, slowly obscuring the world, until consciousness finally slipped from his grasp.


End file.
